


What a Wonderful World

by jcd1013 (redheadgleek)



Category: Gilmore Girls
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-22
Updated: 2015-04-22
Packaged: 2018-03-25 05:35:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3798670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redheadgleek/pseuds/jcd1013
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A midwinter's night tale. Literati.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What a Wonderful World

**Author's Note:**

> Quote from Eva Cassidy's "I Wandered By A Brookside."
> 
> A/N: The idea of this story came to me after watching "The Bracebridge Dinner" again this week — it's my favorite episode and it started all of these little "what-if" gears going in my head. Plus it snowed here, turning me into a romantic sap, so what can I say?

_He drew me near and nearer_   
_We neither spoke one word_   
_But the beating of our own two hearts_   
_Was the only sound I heard . . ._

My mother becomes absolutely crazy when it snows. Of course others like Luke, would argue that she's out of her mind most of the time, but it gets to a whole new level with snow. Last year, for example, we had a really warm fall, where it didn't snow until almost Christmas. The second week in December, Mom dragged me out of bed at three a.m. and insisted that the snow gods were angry and we needed to sacrifice the sun to appease them. So she built a fire in our front yard, threw a picture of the sun on the flames and danced around, promising the gods snow forts and angels. When it snowed the next day, she was convinced that she had made the snow gods happy and tried to get me to participate in her thanksgiving feast, but I put my feet (yes, you need both of them firmly planted when dealing with Lorelai!) down on that one.

The first snow is her favorite. A child-like glee lights up her eyes and she waits up all night to see the first flakes fall, and it is then that she sort of loses consciousness—you know what I mean. Her face softens and this little private smile lingers on her lips, as if she's relieving this beautiful memory. She's never told me what she's thinking about. If I ask her, she turns to me and her grins widens, as she opens up her blanket so I can snuggle up to her. She always tells me "Oh nothing, babe of my heart" and changes the subject by talking about needing a new lamp to keep the hippo clock company or about the few months after my birth when she would nurse me and watch the snow fall. I think it's probably one of the few things Mom hasn't shared with me, but somehow I know not to question too deeply.

I've never understood her love for the bitter, depressing months known as winter. I spend most winters miserable and cold—I could never get warm enough and I hated having cold hands and feet, not to mention the constant wet feeling. Nope, I am not a winter person and I have very fond dreams of moving to Texas or Arizona where I can bask like a cat in the heat.

The first snowstorm came early this year—the day before Halloween and for once, my mother was not out thanking the snow gods for their bounteous gift. Michel had given her a cold that week and she had gone to bed early dosed up with cough syrup with codeine. So it was just me, awake and unable to sleep, who witnessed the first flurries of snow falling.

I got up out of bed and padded over to the window. I had never realized how bright everything became in a snowstorm—an orange halo seemed to surround the town, bright enough that if I squinted, I could read by it. And it was so quiet, everything muffled. Stars Hollow was never the busiest of places, but it seemed unnaturally still—as if the world stopped. The snow was coming down thickly, drifting slowly to the lawn where it sat for a moment before melting into the ground. For a brief moment, it reminded me of "James and the Giant Peach," when James drops the bag and the little particles squirmed and glowed before wiggling into the ground and I watched for several minutes as the snow slowly accumulated in little patches.

A sudden desire came over me—a desire to go out outside and become completely surrounded by the snow and revel in the feeling of isolation. I pulled on a pair of sweats over my pajamas and grabbed my coat and gloves.

My feet must have taken me to the bridge—I was too busy staring up into the sky, getting dizzy by the falling flakes. They fell like shooting stars and I marveled at how lightly they rested on the leaves of the trees. My feet made slight crutching noises, and for a moment I concentrated on setting each foot down perfectly, so as to reduce the damage to the untouched sidewalk. I looked back and saw the line of footsteps following me, betraying my path to strangers. I felt almost angry at this thought, but it passed, soothed as I watched the snow fall to slowly fill the marks, hiding me again.

I knew he was there. Don't ask how. Long before I arrived, my internal senses had alerted me to another presence. Or perhaps he had been calling to me and I had responded, I don't know. I had heard stories about that before, but the logical side of me had never put much faith in the paranormal. Now, all I know was that I was not surprised to see him sitting on the edge of the bridge, feet dangling off the edge. He was expecting me too, I think, for he moved over as I approached, and I sat down beside him.

We didn't say anything and I didn't look over at him. I concentrated on the crisp feeling in the air and how our breath mingled together—a puff of cloud that left our lips and became one before it faded away.

The snow was even heavier now, acting as a curtain, separating us from the world—I could not see beyond the edge of the pond, and the soft darkness seemed to draw the two of us closer, until I was aware of the heat radiating from his thigh, soaking into me.

I turned towards him, the snow clinging to my hair and eyelashes, weighing on my shoulders. I looked at his face and eyes for the first time. His cheeks and nose were red, contrasting to his pale skin and dark eyes. A snowflake fell onto his cheek and the gossamer thought came, fleetingly, that I was jealous of the kiss of that flake. Slowly, I removed my glove and gently touched my finger to the place of the winter's kiss. I traced a path down to his mouth, marveling at the feeling of his cold skin against my finger. His lips were soft and my own suddenly remembered the feeling of them, an imprint they were unable to forget. And for the second time in six months, I found myself leaning over to him, seeking out his lips.

The kiss was incredible soft and slow, as if we were taking cues from the weather surrounding us. His hand reached up and took my fingers in his, and his arm hooked around my back, pulling me closer. When we parted an eternity later, I opened my eyes to see his questioning gaze on me. Heat surged over my cheeks, but before I could turn away, he spoke. "Rory." He whispered, "Please don't run away."

I shook my head, a smile lifting the corners of my mouth. My fingers untangled from his, and found a clump of snow, which I smeared over his nose. He smirked, a gleam in his eyes, and stood suddenly, and hauled me to my feet. I couldn't help it. The joy bubbled out of me and I laughed as I wrapped my arms around him. He joined me in the laugh as we danced around each other.

Moments earlier, I had been awed by the feeling of peace and isolation that the falling snow provided, but now, there was something more-a sense of something magical shimmering in the air. Suddenly, I had the urge to yell and dance around one of my mother's sacrifice fires and have a snowball fight. I satisfied all of those urges by kissing him again, giggling happily against his lips.

I drank in the magical savor as we meandered down the snow-covered paths to my home, two sets of footprints marking the way. The snow was slowing-our steps would be there in the morning, but I had no desire to hide this time, and wished that the snow could stay that way forever, preserving this enchanted night. We talked eagerly, although in hushed voices, starved after weeks of strained conversation, about books and aspirations and walked as slowly as we could, our hands clasped in each other's.

Too soon, we reached my front door. Conversation ceased. I wrapped my arms around his body; he pulled me close. We rested there, not moving, not speaking, until, with a final, lingering kiss, he departed.

I entered my silent house, crept to my room, where I removed my very damp clothes, only now aware of the shivering in my bones. Teeth clattering, I climbed into bed. As sleep rose to claim me, it struck me that the smile on my face was the same as the one I had seen so often on my mom's and I understood why she never wanted to share that memory. Tomorrow, I would tell my mom about Jess and I, but this evening would remain a perfect memory that only the two of us would know about.

Winter jumped to the top of favorite seasons.


End file.
